by Ted Tayler
Too late to think of that now, he thought. I’ll have to face her in a minute. Try to repair the damage and salvage a working relationship at least. They were due in court for the sentencing later. He dressed and made his way downstairs for breakfast. He just hoped that he managed to eat something. As he walked past Zara’s door he resisted the temptation to knock.
When he walked into the small restaurant, only a handful of guests sat at the tables. Zara was nowhere to be seen yet. Nobody looked up when he walked to a table. Everyone’s eyes were turned towards the TV set on the wall which was tuned to the local BBC news. A reporter stood in a familiar spot. What on earth!
“DS Angela Chambers responded to an attack by a mugger on customers outside the Nat West Bank in the High Street when she was stabbed. The emergency services received calls from two members of the public shortly after the young policewoman came on duty at 7.00 am. Eyewitnesses informed the police that a man had just withdrawn cash from the ATM. He had been stabbed in the back by a young man wearing a hoodie. DS Chambers attended in a marked police car with another officer when she was attacked. Police are still trying to find out the exact sequence of events. A witness reported seeing a delivery driver stabbed too as he tried to prevent the man from escaping with the stolen money.”
Phil sat in his chair stunned. The reporter turned to a middle-aged woman and asked her to describe what she’d seen.
“The police arrived,” said the lady, “the officer who was attacked came at him from behind the delivery van and shouted. Put down the knife. Put down the knife. The man turned around and stabbed her several times in the neck. She fell to the ground. The policeman fired a baton round and then used a Taser to stop the man and arrest him. It was a war zone; three bodies and a young man twitching on the floor in handcuffs.”
“Thank you,” said the reporter and turned to a familiar face in a Hi-Viz jacket. It was the Chief Constable.
“Chief Constable, this must be a terrible time. Do you have any update on the officer’s condition you can pass on to us? How serious were the injuries to the other two men?”
“Such events highlight the dangers that police officers face every day on the front line protecting the public,” the Chief Constable replied. “I cannot give you any news on the police officer, but I can confirm that our officer used a baton round and Taser electric stun gun to restrain the knifeman. A man has been arrested on suspicion of attempted murder. One of the injured men, a 65-year-old local man, is said to be in a serious but stable condition. The second man, a 28-year-old driver from Bristol is being treated in hospital for minor injuries.”
The reporter thanked the Chief Constable, wrapped up the report and handed back to the studio. Phil wanted to get the latest news; he couldn’t hang around for the next update in thirty minutes. He should tell Zara what had happened.
Phil went up to her room. He got no reply. He checked at the reception; her room key had been returned; she had already left for the courts.
Zara Wheeler woke up at seven o’clock with a start. In a strange bed; with a headache and no nightdress. Last night came flooding back to her. A magical hour of sex with Phil and then her world had come crashing around her. She wanted to use the bathroom; to have a shower, but she didn’t want him to know she was awake. She couldn’t face seeing him; not yet.
Zara lay there thinking back to last night until she heard him moving around the room. She crept into the bathroom. She couldn’t wait any longer. A few minutes later she heard the lift. He had gone for breakfast. That was her cue to shower, get dressed and pack her bag. Breakfast could wait; she wanted to get across to Corn Street to sit with Nick Frobisher and the team. A good result there might help to soften the blow.
Zara walked into the Crown Court building. It was bustling with people, as usual, but she sensed an odd feeling about the place. Something bad had happened, but what?
DS Nick Frobisher sat on a bench outside the courtroom with his head in his hands.
“What’s up, Nick, a hangover?” she asked.
“Haven’t you heard,” asked Nick, surprised to see her on her own, “where’s the boss?”
“Still at the guest house, tucking into a full English I expect,” replied Zara.
Nick stood up and hugged Zara to him.
“Oh Zara, it’s terrible. Angela got stabbed this morning.”
Zara pushed her colleague away; she couldn’t take in what he was telling her.
“What do you mean, stabbed?” she cried.
“A bloke mugged a guy at an ATM in town, knifed him when he refused to hand over the cash; a bloke delivering to Gregg’s had a go at him and got injured too. When Angela and Frank Darby turned up, she approached the guy with the knife and he ran at her and stabbed her in the neck several times. Frank tasered him and put him on the floor.”
“How’s Angela?” Zara asked, praying that her friend would make it.
“I’ve just seen the Chief Constable on TV. No news yet. It’ll be back on in twenty-five minutes. I’ve phoned HQ. They won’t or can’t comment. Everybody is in pieces.”
The clock ticked on. There would be no chance of finding a TV and watching the next news summary before the court was in session. Nick and Zara entered the room and sat together. The young constables out with them last evening were already there, their faces grey. Partly from the night before and partly from the shock of the morning’s news.
Phil Hounsell arrived just as the judge entered. Phil slipped into the seats reserved for his team and sat on the end of the row. He tried to catch Zara’s eye, further along, next to Nick Frobisher, but she avoided his gaze. He thought he deserved it. One of the young coppers whispered to him that she knew the latest; Nick had told her when she arrived. Phil wanted to get this sentencing lark over and get outside for the latest news.
The judge took his own sweet time going through the information in front of him. He seemed relaxed and jovial. Phil imagined the old beggar’s wife must have relented last night for the first time in months. Then he cursed himself for thinking of sex again. It only reminded him of his own problems. His daydreaming was interrupted by a gasp of surprise from the bench beside him and a whoop of delight from the dock.
The stupid old sod had followed so many of his colleagues on the ‘we mustn’t be too harsh on them; they have such difficult lives to contend with’ path; he imposed fines that would be simple for Seamus Kelly to afford and close to the minimum custodial sentence possible for Seamus, Patrick, and George Kelly. Taking into account the time they had been held on remand, they would serve little more than three months. Siobhan Kelly received a fine and a community service order.
The Kelly family members gathered in the public gallery clapped and cheered when they weren’t pissing themselves with laughter. Kelly Senior and his sons were taken to the cells, but any chance of wiping that supercilious smile off their faces had been squandered.
Nick Frobisher was fuming. “Where’s the justice in that,” he asked, “we have twenty-eight days to appeal, surely we can do better than that?”
Stony faces from the prosecution and the CPS suggested otherwise. Nobody could believe those many hours of work had been devalued so off-handedly. What a system; what a shambles.
Phil Hounsell and his team collected outside the courtroom and discussed what to do next.
“Let’s get back to HQ and find out what’s happening there,” he said. “No point hanging around here. We’ll debrief this fiasco when our heads are clearer.”
As they spilt out of the Crown Courts on to the pavement, reporters, and camera crews were everywhere, shoving microphones in their faces.
“Do you have any comment on the sentencing?”
“What message does this send to the public?”
Phil stuck to ‘No Comment’ for every question and shepherded his team away from the ruckus as quick as possible. Suddenly, the media’s attention switched back to the doors to the Crown Court.
Phil paused, expecting to see m
embers of the Kelly clan hoping to celebrate their patriarch’s lucky escape with a mindless rant on live TV. It was the Divisional Commander. What was he doing here?
The police colleagues moved closer to listen to him being interviewed.
“The incident lasted around ten minutes between the emergency calls being taken and DS Chambers being stabbed. DS Chambers was taken by ambulance to hospital but I can now confirm that she died of her injuries shortly after arrival. The other two victims of the attack are being treated for their injuries. They are thought not to be life-threatening. This is a tragic event and I offer my deepest sympathy to the officer's family, friends, and colleagues.”
As Phil, Zara, Nick, and the others stood in shocked silence, a reporter continued speaking to the camera.
“Colleagues have been left traumatised by the killing of DS Chambers, who was wearing a stab-proof vest. She loved her job and was a dedicated member of the police force. Dedication to duty cost Angela Chambers her life.”
Another channel was reporting a few yards away. They heard a young female’s voice.
“Angela Chambers lived alone in the town of Portishead. Her parents and her two brothers live in Exeter. She joined the force in 2004; senior officers paid tribute from Portishead HQ. The Assistant Chief Constable told us, ‘Angela was a great girl, a valuable team member, just doing the job she loved, and as someone who loved life.’
Zara felt hot tears on her cheeks. Nick Frobisher put an arm around her shoulders to comfort her. He had tears in his eyes too. Zara recalled the night in Portishead when Angela kissed her, coming out to her as a lesbian. She and Angela had moved past that and become good friends. She knew that only a few weeks ago Angela had found someone.
Angela had rushed into her office on a Monday morning to tell her the news. They met on Saturday night at a club in Weston-Super-Mare and ‘it happened at last.’ She was so excited and happy. Why did life have to be so bloody unfair?
Zara could still hear the woman’s voice chirping away in the background.
“Her family is traumatised and understandably upset and angry. Angela Chambers came to work and her parents expected her to phone home this evening and she now won’t do that. Meanwhile, in other news, here today at the Crown Court Judge Erskine-Mathers is being accused of extreme leniency in the sentencing of a travelling family. They were found guilty yesterday of the false imprisonment of a group of homeless men who they kept in terrible conditions and forced to work on jobs in the area.”
Phil Hounsell wasn’t listening anymore. He needed to be back at HQ. Zara was still being comforted by Nick Frobisher. Phil nodded to Nick, to suggest he should look after her and bring her back to Portishead. He hurried back to the guest house, collected his things from reception and walked to the car park for his car. The drive to the coast was lonely. The same as the rest of the team, he felt wretched.
“Come on then lads,” said Nick, “we’d better make tracks back to work. Zara, Phil has gone on ahead. You can ride with me.”
Zara continued to sob quietly and just nodded her head.
The mood at the station was one of utter despair. Another life lost from the thin blue line. When Zara got back to her office, she noticed Phil’s door closed. He wasn’t anywhere in sight. When she inquired, she was told the senior officers were with the ACC.
Zara couldn’t settle at her work. She wanted to get into town; to the High Street, to see where her friend and colleague had been killed. She found Toby Drysdale in the corridor, looking lost.
“Toby, are you free for a while?”
“Supposed to be going out in ten minutes on patrol, why?”
“I want to go there.”
Toby squeezed Zara’s hand.
“It’s awful, isn’t it Zara,” he said quietly, “are you sure you want to see where it happened?”
“Yes,” she replied.
“Meet you in the car park in ten, then,” said Toby, and he returned to the squad room.
The two friends drove into town in silence. Toby parked the car, and they walked past the bakery and towards the bank. Forensic officers still examined the crime scene. They were numbering items lying on the ground. A tarpaulin covered what Zara imagined was the spot where Angela’s neck wounds bled so profusely that they proved fatal.
Just beyond the police cordon on the other side from where she stood, Zara clung on to Toby. She saw that bouquets of flowers had accumulated at the base of a streetlamp.
“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so wretched,” she said, “why is life so cruel?”
Toby knew there wasn’t much to offer in consolation. They would need to pull together to get through this. Time would never erase the memory of their colleague. They could only keep working to keep the public safe. Try to do their jobs to the best of their ability when they apprehended the criminals. Then pray the authorities gave them the resources and support they needed to bring them to justice.
Toby had been on the job long enough to know the first two parts lay within their compass. The last part was a different matter altogether.
He had learned what happened with the case over which Nick Frobisher sweated so much blood. No matter how hard they worked. No matter how many officers made the ultimate sacrifice as Angela did. If the government kept cutting funding and the legal system kept favouring the criminal over the victim; then they were fighting a losing battle.
CHAPTER 12
Monday, June 20th, 2011
The funeral of DS Angela Chambers took place at noon.
The crowds that gathered in the city centre applauded as soon as the hearse bearing her body came into view. Hundreds of police officers travelled from across the West Country to pay their respects to their fallen comrade.
The funeral cortege edged through Exeter. Members of the public in the packed cathedral awaited them. The service was to be transmitted to the hundreds standing outside in the warm summer sunshine.
The Assistant Chief Constable together with DS Phil Hounsell, DCI Zara Wheeler and other fellow officers from Portishead HQ followed the procession on foot.
A funeral carriage was drawn by horses from the force’s mounted unit. DS Chambers’s coffin was shrouded in black cloth; her police helmet lay at its foot.
At noon chimes from the cathedral marked the start of a two-minute silence.
Angela Chambers’s family entered the cathedral. Her mother, Kathy, father, Chris, and her brothers, Steve, and Robbie sat together with other family members.
The cathedral choir sang ‘Abide with Me’ as the coffin entered; carried by six senior officers.
Chief Constables and senior officers from forces across England and Wales were among the congregation inside the cathedral. Mourners, whether members of the family, the public or police officers, wiped away silent tears. Hymns were sung, poems read and people remembered Angela’s thirty years of life.
Her family said she wanted to make a difference and did a job she loved.
Fellow officers described her as always smiling, with a great outgoing personality.
Her Chief Constable spoke of her dedication to serving the public.
She would be greatly missed. We must never forget her great sacrifice. DS Chambers was born at the Royal Devon & Exeter Hospital in 1981, attended Exeter School and went to Plymouth University before joining the force in 2004.
The family followed the coffin to the crematorium for a private service.
In Bristol, Ashley Crookes, twenty-three, of no fixed abode, was on remand accused of DS Chambers’s murder. He was further accused of the attempted murder of two other men involved in the incident in Portishead.
* * *
Two months later in the early hours of the morning on Tuesday 9 August, vandalism, and looting erupted in Bristol in response to similar events occurring elsewhere in the country. The police and fire services were called out in force.
DS Phil Hounsell was at home in Bath with his wife Erica. Their children, Shaun, and Tracey asleep in the
ir beds. A couple of miles away, in Erica’s mother's house, DI Zara Wheeler sat at home alone.
The days preceding the funeral of their colleague had been tense and emotional for everyone on the staff at Portishead HQ. The day itself was traumatic; the days after everyone spent grieving and healing.
For Phil and Zara, an awkwardness existed in their working relationship that had never previously been there. It was strained, certainly. Cool and artificially professional. Whichever way you found to describe it, it couldn’t last.
Zara spent most of her evenings at home with a bottle of wine and her cats. Toby Drysdale persuaded her to go out with him now and again, but the ‘friends with benefits’ were now strictly just friends.
Nick Frobisher dropped in once or twice in the first week or two, just to talk. He lived in Weston and was engaged to a primary-school teacher. They were planning their wedding for next Easter.
Zara had talked with Angela’s mother after the short service at the crematorium. Only family and half a dozen close colleagues attended. Kathy Chambers slipped her the phone number of Freya Garroway, Angela’s new girlfriend.
“Freya was in the cathedral, Inspector, but she couldn’t face coming here. Angela told me what a good friend you were to her. Perhaps you would keep in touch with Freya? I think she’ll need a shoulder to cry on too; we all will.”
Zara waited a month before she called Freya. After she explained who she was, and why she had called, they agreed to meet. Zara suggested the same quiet bar she and Angela visited in Portishead. Freya knew it; they met one evening after work and shared a few drinks and a few memories.
Zara saw what attracted Angela to Freya. She was petite, but athletic and dressed more like a young boy, than a girl. Zara noticed that Freya got several admiring looks from the adjoining tables. Freya was still grieving for her lover.